


Together and ahead we go

by siberianchan



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Other, and an angel who gets more and more protective, and hatches an idea, we have a clingy snek, with a freak out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 09:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20273734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siberianchan/pseuds/siberianchan
Summary: Right after the Apocalypse that wasn't breakdowns are had. As are realizations. Resolves are found. And a future together is protected.





	Together and ahead we go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SonyB89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonyB89/gifts), [JamieAvenBell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamieAvenBell/gifts).

> It started out as something fun with a clingy snake and then my hc that the body swap was Aziraphale's idea and work joined in and...  
...  
I don't know? I like it?  
Hope you do to.

Together and ahead we go

They hadn't said much on their ride back, but with all that had happened and a bottle of 1921 French wine between them any need for words had been replaced by a certainly pleasant, alcoholic buzz and a distinctly less pleasant sense of "What now" and "what if".

The bus, of course went to London for no particular reason the bus driver would later be able to recall. They took a ride through SoHo and when it looked like they might pass his bookshop and Aziraphale's body started shaking at the prospect of seeing the burned-out husk of over 200 years of labour and love, Crowley's Hand had travelled from its earlier resting place at the small of Aziraphale's back up to the nape of his neck.

He had gently persuaded the angel to look down, lower his gaze, not stare out the window an Aziraphale had felt Crowley's cheek resting on his head. "Probably better not to look," the demon had whispered.

He didn't know whether they actually passed the book shop, but sometime later the bus topped in Mayfair with no station in sight and they got out, Crowley's hand still in Aziraphale's hair.

And he had his hand still in his hair when they took the escalator up to the 5th floor.

They had been touching ever since they had entered the bus, Aziraphale realized. It felt good, it felt really good. Like something he hadn't realized t had ever been missing had finally been returned to him - or maybe had come to him for the first time.

When they left the escalator Crowley at last let got of him, just for a bit, just for a moment to push aside his doormat, revealing several wards.

Aziraphale recognized the sigils to ban angels, just before Crowley smudged them.

"After you," he whispered, voice coarse.

He was through the door with one gingerly step. The experience was not a pleasant one. The wards had been weakened, but nod disabled, their pressure still rushing in on Aziraphale, tearing at his body and making his wings ache. He most definitely did not want to know how it would have felt to try and pass through the wards at full power. 

The pressure, in combination with the alcohol, was enough for his knees to buckle and his hands touched, cool, black tiles, polished to perfection for him to see his own, pale reflection.

Crowley peered over his shoulder. "You alright?"

Aziraphale fought down a slight wave of nausea. "Yes, yes, I'm… I'm fine, dear."

"I'll be with you in a moment, yes?" Crowley's voice was shaking, just a little, just like his hands as he took them from Aziraphale's shoulders.

From the corner of his eyes he could see Crowley re-drawing the sigils he had smudged and then, after a moment's pause added some more, circles and swirls and signs to ward off not angels but demons as well.

Once that was done he sighed in relief. "I'll need to reinforce the windows and the chimney, but…" With that he was back at Aziraphale's side. "Didn't dare weakening the ward further, you know, in case…" His arms wrapped around him and helped him up, even though Aziraphale now was very certain that he could have stood well on his own.

He was about to say as much, but then- then Crowley didn't move. He just stood there, his arms wrapped around Aziraphale's waist and even though neither of them had any need for breath there it was, rushing over Aziraphale's neck in short, hectic gusts.

"Dear…" 

"Don't move," Crowley whispered, "just… don't move, angel, don't move, yes?" His voice was strangely strangled. 

And then he slumped against him, his weight - not that it was much - resting entirely on Aziraphale's shoulders and hips.

Aziraphale's arms wrapped themselves around the demon without much prompting from him. "Oh dear… it's alright, yes, it's alright…"

"It wasn't, though." The words came out broken and shattered like shards and Crowleys fingers dug into the fabric of Aziraphale's coat. "It wasn't, you… you were _ gone _, angel."

Oh. Oh dear. Yes. Over the last few hours Aziraphale had pushed that aside, Crowle had been so nonchalant upon meeting up at the airbase and then there had been a boy to not-kill, Armageddon not to happen and-

"I'm sorry." Aziraphale pressed him closer to himself. "I'm so sorry, I wish you-"

"And we've been fighting and you were mad at me and I hadn't apologized and-"

Standing was not a good position for that.

"Couch?" he gently suggested, running a hand through Crowley's hair. It was so soft, like downy feathers on a young bird and it's warm and it smelled rich and warm, like earth and fire and life and humanity. 

Crowley _ sniffled _.

"Or bed? Get you some sleep?"

Crowley didn’t react, so Aziraphale decided to lead him around the flat and open some doors just to close them again after finding an office with a very Crowley-esque throne, a bathroom and a greenery. He briefly noticed the air of sheer fear filling that last room but ignored it in favour of the next door that finally revealed a very dark, very sleek, minimalistic bedroom, with a bed that, unlike Aziraphale’s, did actually look like it was being used regularly.

Aziraphale carefully led him there and sat them both down, with Crowley shivering like mad in his arms, his fingernails digging so deep into Aziraphale's clothes that he could feel it on his skin. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, choking, "I'm sorry, I… I didn't want to say all these things, I didn't-"

"I know." He pressed his nose into Crowley's hair. "It's alright."

"'s not."

“I forgive you."

Crowley shivered in his arms. He had never seemed so _ small _, despite his lanky frame he had always seemed so powerful, so in-control and now…

Aziraphale hadn't realized that he had begun to hum into Crowley's hair, press gentle kisses on his brow and rub his shoulders right where his wings were folded into his human form.

After a while, a dreadfully long while filled with sobs and shivers, Crowley managed to calm down and draw a deep, shaky and unnecessary breath. "I… I think… I think I should say thank you?"

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean you have to," Aziraphale whispers. "How do you feel?"

"Better. You're not gone, that's…" Crowley cleared his throat. "That helps." 

Aziraphale could see a faint flush rising to his cheeks and felt himself mirror it. He still couldn't stop himself from running a hand through Crowley's fiery hair. "That's good to hear. Maybe you should sleep? You always say it does wonders for your mind."

Crowley swallowed. "I… I have to seal of the place. No intruders…"

"Demons or angels?"

"I'm already warded against angels," Crowley pointed out.

Aziraphale swallowed a little and laughed nervously. "Ah. Yes. Right. That's all right then. I think I can do wards against demons." He put some gentle pressure on Crowley's shoulders to lay him down.

Crowley followed his command and didn't refuse when Aziraphale took off his glasses.

His golden eyes were tired and betrayed incredible tension, but when Aziraphale ran a hand through his hair and over his eyes he heaved a sigh of relief. 

When Aziraphale removed his hand his eyes were closed.

That was good. Neither angels nor demons needed sleep, but since Crowley claimed that it gave his mind some rest it was probably for the best.

He slowly got up.

"Don't leave?"

It took Aziraphale embarrassingly long to recognise that soft little whimper as Crowley's voice. 

He paused. “I won’t,” he then promised. “I’ll only go and seal off the place, yes and then make you some cocoa?”

“Don’t need that,” Crowley whimpered, although there was the barest hint of a hiss.

“What do you need then?” Aziraphale gently asked and miracled Crowley out of his clothes and into the red-and-black silk pajamas he had spotted on the foot of the bed. They suited him, in more ways than just the colour pattern. The almost liquid, shimmering fabric clung to Crowley’s body like a second skin and when Aziraphale helped him under the duvet - satin, soft and sweet to the touch like a strawberry to the tongue - it was cool and becogning, almost tempting-

He decided that it was best to run a hand over his hair, rather than his silk-clad limbs.

“You here.” Crowley sighed. “Ugh, I really need sleep, can’t believe I said that…” He put an arm over his eyes and rolled himself to the side, turning his back to Aziraphale. “Still true, angel.”

“I’ll seal off the flat then and be back in an instant,” Aziraphale promised. “Alright?”

“Alright,” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale got to work right away on the bedroom windows.

Here the wards against angels were almost invisible, etched into the marble of the windowsill with a hint of fire. They were only directed to the outside. No angel could enter, but they could freely leave.

It was probably best to direct the wards against demons the same way. 

Picturing them in his head wasn’t a challenge. Every angel knew these sigils by heart and all he had to do was will them to his hand and press the palm on the windowsill to sear the seal into the marble. 

After the first ward he was breathing heavily.

After the second sweat was running down his brow.

Using just chalk would have been easier, but it would have also made the wards impermanent. One little mishap would have rendered them useless, allowing anyone entry.

Crowley had done the ward on his entrance door deliberately in chalk, Aziraphale realized, a safety measure he could easily nullify to make his place welcoming, in the case Aziraphale wanted to visit.

He swallowed, because, of course he had never visited, had neither asked to see Crowley’s flat, no matter how much Crowley had hinted on that new couch he would like to show off or that new amazing kitchen that could really do with seeing some serious usage. Neither had he accepted any of his more bold invitations.

And still Crowley had waited, waited, waited, ever so patiently.

As Aziraphale drew the ward against demonic visitors next to the one against angels and put the doormat back over both sigils he couldn’t help but wonder about the what if’s. What if he’d been a little braver, a little more daring, a little more honest with himself, what if…

They had lost so much time. Not that time really mattered to celestial beings, not in the general, mortality-inducing sense, but just before they had been on the brink of armageddon and had witnessed it just barely being averted.

Aziraphale knew a second chance when he saw it and he was very keen on not throwing this one away.

He took care to place the other wards and then quickly returned to the bedroom.

Crowley was still awake and looked at him with flickering, restless eyes. 

“See?” Aziraphale whispered, “I’m still here.”

“Thank someone for miracles,” Crowley whispers back and opened his arms.

Going to bed in street clothes is very uncomfortable and Aziraphale hated few things more than discomfort. Since right now he hated keeping Crowley waiting even more, he quickly took off his coat, vest and bowtie, then trousers and shirt and then got to the bed.

Crowley opened his arms to him, lifting the duvet in the process and Aziraphale hadn’t even really crawled onto the mattress that he had already clung to him again, each limb being a veritable snake in its own right. 

Aziraphale ran a hand through his hair. “How are you feeling now?”

“The world didn’t end,” Crowley mumbled into the crook of his neck. “The Antichrist is a disgustingly adorable, despicably well-behaved and deplorably earnest kid. We’re both in the bad books of our bosses and of each other’s bosses - I mean, officially now, too.” He paused and gently lifted a hand to Aziraphale’s cheek. “I didn’t lose you. I think, I… I’ll be fine in a bit, just… been a rough day.”

“Rough indeed.” Aziraphale rested his chin on the top of Crowley’s head and closed his eyes, just for a moment . "Sleep, dear."

Crowley huddled even closer, close enough that Aziraphale wondered whether he wanted to crawl into him completely. Not that he would have minded. 

"You too?"

"Maybe in a bit." Aziraphale whispered and pressed a kiss on the crown of Crowley's head. "Not now though."

Crowley settled around him, nestled his head against Aziraphale's shoulder and slowly, slowly he could feel him drifting off.

It was a rare view to have Crowley entirely off-guard, entirely open and Aziraphale marvelled a little at the concept. And at the same time, he couldn't help that twinge of anger at the thought that he could have had this so much sooner, without all the pain they - Crowley - had had to go through in the last 24 hours, but no, he had to be a stubborn idiot of an angel.

Well. That was the past. Now they had a future to look forward to.

He felt Crowley shrink a little against him and ran a hand over the nape of his neck.

Before they could think of the future they had to make sure they get one though, and Aziraphale would make very sure that they stayed in one piece and non-discerperated.

Crowley's sleek body around him was so warm though. And Aziraphale's eyes were so heavy. It had been a rough day, it had been a rough decade, but here, in here in this flat, they were safe.

And for the first time in centuries, Aziraphale allowed the exhaustion of an eternal existence to catch up with him.

He woke up drowsy and disoriented, when sunlight had just begun be softly rap against the blinds. The pillow next to his head was unoccupied and for a brief, terrible moment Aziraphale felt panic arise in him. Where was…

Then he felt it, dry, cool skin, smooth as silk, as a body like a thick rope moved over him just a little and something light flutter over the hollow of his throat. When he craned his neck he could see Crowley's flat, triangular head on his chest, tongue flicking in and out.

It tickled and he laughed. "Do I smell that good?"

Apparently the slight rumble in his chest and his belly was enough to disturb a snake's slumber. 

Crowley stirred, his coils tightened a little. Then he moved and his tongue flickered up Aziraphale's throat and his chin.

Aziraphale felt arms moving over him and fingers running through his hair and a snake's tongue briefly brushing over his lips followed by skin and flesh.

Crowley smiled, eyes warm. "The taste is even better," he whispered.

Akiraphale's cheeks warmed a little. "Glad to see you're feeling well again."

Crowley ran a finger over his cheek and something in his eyes flickered. “Too fast?” he asked, softly.

Azirable ran a hand through Crowley’s hair. “Lately I’ve been thinking that it might have been better if I hadn’t insisted on snail’s speed,” he murmured and watched as Crowley leaned closer over him.

The kiss wasn’t a surprise, quite the opposite. It was like at last being allowed to let go of a heavy yoke on the neck, being able to stand up tall at last, to breathe freely, to move at will.

Aziraphale let out a little sigh against Crowley’s lips as he wrapped his arms around him and hold him close, just like last night, not to calm him down or reassure him, just for the sheer pleasure of feeling him.

“You’re an idiot,” Crowley sighed.

“I know,” Aziraphale chuckled. “But I’m your idiot. Always been. Always will be.” He sighed. “We’ve really gone native, huh? Kissing is such a _ human _ expression of affection…”

“Well, demons don’t have much in that way and from what I remember heaven to be like, it was more flowery words and such and-” Crowley cradled Aziraphales face between his hands. “It’s all nice and fine, angel, but- maybe it’ll pass in a while but I want to feel you’re alive and here with me and not a discorporated spectre and…” 

Aziraphale wove their fingers together. “You think you can deal with me leaving you here and make us some coffee?” He didn’t want to let go of Crowley, not yet, not even for a moment, but- but he needed to find the proper words, he needed to explain his plan clearly, the idea that had come to him before had fallen asleep.

It seemed like madness, but still, he knew what to do and how to do it in theory, he just needed to…

“I’ll manage.” Crowley pressed another kiss on his lips. “Beans are in the upper cupboard to the left. Think I mentioned it before.”

“You did. Along with your preferences for your coffee.”

“Then you know what to do.”

Nodding and smiling, Aziraphale let go of him and went into the sleek, pure white and pewter grey kitchen.

A pristine, gleaming french press in glass and stainless steel, large enough to hold over a litre awaits him on the counter, next to it an hourglass shaped coffee mill made of a glass body, a ceramic grinder and pewter grey silicone grip casing. Japanese design. High quality. Sleek and clear lines.

The kitchen scale in black tempered glass served both as a match and for Aziraphale as a reminder that Crowley was as particular about his coffee as Aziraphale could be about his cocoa.

He found the beans in the spot described, a Guatemalan bean roasted slowly and on a low temperature until the bean had taken the soft, golden brown glow that reminded him of very fine milk chocolate. 

Thirty and three grams of beans per mug - so sixty six grams - he carefully weighed them and put the lid on the mill before getting to work on grinding.

Hecountsed thirty rounds of the handle - not even halfway done. Another thirty rounds - well, he was somewhat there.

Carefully he measured 1100 milliliters of water into the kettle and put it on, then concentrated on the mill again.

They needed to be careful and they needed to be quick. They would not be left by themselves for long, the moment they’d step outside they would be in danger.

The obvious solution was, of course, not to go outside anymore.

A tempting prospect, staying here with Crowley for eternity, but not a feasible one. They love this world too much, they want to see it, taste it, experience it and talk about what they had seen and found and experienced. Crowley wouldn’t be happy for long only being stuck in here.

Neither would Aziraphale.

As he poured the ground coffee into the glass body of the french press the water comes to a boil, the kettle gave off a _ BEEP _and Aziraphale poured the water over the grounds. 

He was about to find the words. 

On first glance one would have expected Crowley to favour small, sleek espresso cups and a fully automatic. Since the latter one was lacking, some sleek, simple mugs - maybe from IKEA, considering Crowley claimed responsibility for spreading it. Instead his mugs were large enough to hold a pint of liquid and cobbled together, novelties with sarcastic quotes, cute animals and references to movies, TV series and books. Aziraphale could even spot a mug displaying a very disgruntled, blue-eyed cat.

He settled on two matching mugs with a simple red-and black design of a three-headed dragon and the words _ Fire and Blood _ whatever that meant and carefully poured the coffee, working the sieve to make sure he would get the most of the coffee out of the grounds.

They both liked their coffee black and unsweetened, although Crowley was a lot more flexible if a particular roast lent itself to milk, foam or flavouring.

This blend was lovely just as it was and Aziraphale hurried to get the mugs back to the bedroom.

Crowley looked expectantly at him and sniffed eagerly as Aziraphale handed him his mug.

“Good?” he asked.

Crowley took a sip. “Delicious,” he sighed. “Really great.”

Aziraphale took a whiff first.

The coffee smelled gentle, almost creamy, certainly no bite from neither acidity, nor over roasting-induced bitterness.

When he took the first sip Airaphales first association was nuts, browned and roasted in butter, a gentle, warm, just slightly scratchy flavour, hat filled his whole mouth.

No bitterness when he swallowed, either.

“This is wonderful,” he sighed, “truly delicious.”

“Found the roastery in Eastern Germany during the last few years. They have an outlet in Berlin. We should visit Berlin sometime, Angel. You’ll love their assortment of tea.”

Aziraphale took a very deep sip of his coffee and then put his mug down. “I'll love to, dearest,” he said. “There’ll be a few things to take care of though?”

“Heaven and Hell?”, Crowley asked.

Aziraphale nodded, heavily, he felt. “They will be after us soon, you and I both know it.”

Crowley took a sip and then sighed. “Yeah, I know. I take you have a plan then?”

Oh, this thrust, this infinite trust. Aziraphale’s heart swelled at it. “I have an idea. How does Helldeal with traitors?”

“Like every totalitarian regime, I suppose. Mock trial, then public punishment.” Crowley stretched. “Heaven will cast you out, I suppose.”

“No.” Aziraphale shook his head. “That’s unlikely. I went against their precious Great Plan. I took away their coveted war. And I got Gabriel to thinking there might be things going on he isn’t aware of and oh my, does he hate not being the most important angel in the room.” He rolled his eyes.

Crowley chuckled. “I think that’s the meanest I’ve ever heard you speak about any other angel.”

“I’m not mean, I’m just stating the facts,” Aziraphale argued. He wanted to add - more out of habit than anything else - that he was an angel, a being of divine, eternal love, he was incapable of being mean - but then again, that wasn’t quite true anymore, wasn’t it? Very likely it had never been true in the first place. Angels, Aziraphale had come to realize, could be downright nasty. And he himself had been willing to shoot a child. So instead he added, “If the facts make Gabriel out to be a prick big enough that he could have saved the Titanic, then that says more about him than about me, don’t you think?”

Crowley sighed and put a hand to his chest. “It is such a treat when you chew out other people than me, even when they’re not present.”

Aziraphale smiled. “What I want to say is, I went against orders, I fraternized with a demon and worst of all, I put a teeny tiny dent in Gabriel’s ego. Add to that that casting unruly angels out of heaven really didn’t do anything than cause more trouble in the long run…” He shook his head. “They will do as any totalitarian regime intent on a good public image will do, give me a mock trial and then punish me - just not in public.” The next sentence was sour in Aziraphale’s mouth. “Considering our- our relationship and the unique circumstances I think the punishment will be to get rid of us completely and thoroughly and involve a sense of dramatic, carmic irony.”

“They won’t get Holy water into Hell, never, they could never come up with that idea,” Crowley argued.

“Maybe, but angels could, angels would and angels would definitely offer an exchange.”

Crowley’s face flickered. “We could… we could run away,” he then said, without much conviction.

Maybe they could. Alpha Centauri had sounded nice when Crowley had first suggested it.

But no. No.

Aziraphale had spent the better part of six millenia running away from one thing or another, from his misgivings about heaven, from whatever responsibility they wanted to load on him, from the end of the world, from his feelings for Crowley.

He had stopped running away now. He would not start again. 

Crowley swallowed. “And what shall we do then?

“Like Agnes said. Choose your faces wisely." Aziraphale put a finger to his nose. 

"I go and take a punishment fit to destroy an angel," Crowley surmised, "and you let a bunch of demons take you on in my place?"

Aziraphale nodded.

"And you think it won't affect us?"

"If it goes like I suspect it to, no. Do you trust me with this?"

Crowley reached out and took his hand in between his own. "With everything. I… I’m not sure how you think you can do that so nobody will notice, but-” He ran his fingers over Aziraphales writs. “I think if anyone can figure out a way or learn of it then it would be you.”

His words trickled into Aziraphale’s body, warm and gentle like the coffee before. He raised their linked hands to his lips and pressed a kiss on Crowley’s fingers. “My dear, I hoarded knowledge long before I started hoarding books. I have learned a few things. Maybe we should finish that coffee first, though,” he then added. “This roast is truly something.”

“Hm. The Germans do love their coffee,” Crowley mumbled and took a sip. “What is it going to be, though? If I just glamour myself as you, they will notice at once and vice versa. And body-hopping…”

Aziraphale swallowed. “It runs along the lines of the latter, but on a deeper level, it… it is a rather intimate matter.” His cheeks grew warm again. 

Crowley cocked his head. “Intimate. Six thousand years of me wooing my ass off with you and fifty years of _ You’re going too fast for me _ and you suggest intimacy the first time you’re in my flat?”

It was spoken in a light, teasing tone, but it still hit home far more than Aziraphale would have liked. “To be fair,” he muttered, “there were external circumstances that-”

Crowley leaned over for a kiss to shut him up. “I know, angel,” he whispered. “I know. It’s alright. You’re worth waiting for another six thousand years.”

Aziraphale’s heart leapt at his words. “Thank you, dear. In a sense it is… well, intermingling. And melting down our bodies to re-mold them and…”

“You’ve ever done this before?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. I only studied it, it- it’s an angelic practise, but one half-forgotten and I- I have no idea what it might do to us if it goes wrong.”

“Can’t be worse than being doused in holy water,” Crowley remarked, flippantly, although his shoulders tensed a little. Then he let go of a breath he had no need of holding and finished his coffee, before putting his mug down on the floor next to the bed. “Alright. What am I to do, Angel?”

“Come here, come close,” Aziraphale replied and followed suit, put his mug down and opened his arms a little, as if Crowley needed an extra invitation to come to him. He held him tight as he let loose, just a little, a first step down the path and his wings unfurled, and wrapped around them in a wave of power and freedom and he just being himself-

A soft rustle filled the room and Crowley’s presence enwrapped him.

“Like this?”

“Pretty much perfect,” Aziraphale smiled and ran a hand down the nape of Crowley's neck, down his shoulder blades and then to the base of his wings.

Crowley shuddered.

Aziraphale let his hands rest, without holding anything, but that gesture alone made Crowley shiver and twitch.

"That's intimate indeed," he sighed.

His fingers ghosted over Aziraphale's side and then brushed against the first, soft feathers. The touch travelled along the side of the feather, into the delicate, hollow bones and sank deep into him, vibrating deep within.

He breathed out.

In a sense, an angel's wings, fallen or not, are the only part of his corporeal form that are truly them. A body was a form they inhabit and that they connect to in way not unlike a human soul connecting to their body. 

But a discorporation is usually a minor, albeit sometimes painful inconvenience and at worst a lot of paperwork for an angel and the body itself, while in its basic form - hair, skin, eyes, maybe the set of a jaw or the arch of a brow - is firmly set, other factors - age, apparent gender, the existence of private parts - is distinctly fluid and can change to whatever the angel in question deems fit for the occasion.

Their wings are them, their wings are their being made form and flesh on the earthly plane.

It was precisely for that reason Aziraphale was gently running his fingers over the soft, silky black feathers, touching on Crowley’s very essence and shivering as Crowley did the same to him.

Kissing, he was very sure, was not a necessary part of this. But it felt so good and warm and _ exhilarating _ to be touched and touched on the deepest level while feeling this bit of warm, sweet, physical contact. It also opened Crowley up to him, little by little, allowing Aziraphale to touch him deeper and deeper.

He himself had no such troubles. Crowley had always been by his side, ever a gently nagging, ribbing voice in his ear, wondering what the point of everything that was happening might be, a question whether it was really, truly good of him to simply follow the rules, folding his hands where he could work them, inspiring him to actually do so. He had been there to save him too, so often Aziraphale had lost count.

No matter what he had claimed, on a deep level he had trusted Crowley without doubt, without question. Letting him in, allowing him to fill out each little corner of him, came so easy to him, it happened without hesitation.

Crowley was more guarded, not hostile, not rejecting, but - careful, used to countless gentle refusals and rebuttals, waiting for one more to happen, to come, but - no. Not this time. Never again.

Aziraphale kissed him again and again and felt him melt under his hands and lips until they were nothing more but themselves, no bodies, no shapes, only them, them, them, them.

_ MineYoursMineYours _ they sang together as they find, touched, briefly let go and grasped each other again.

_ I am yours _ , Aziraphale whispered, transferred, felt, _ I am yours and I have always been and I will always be. _

_ One _ , Crowley replied, engulfing him in his joy, _ one when We want to, my precious, my heart _

_ My dearest _

There were wounds, Aziraphale felt, old wounds still festering and hurting and he gently touched them, easing the pain a little for now. Others had already scarred over with thick welts. He dwelt on these too, easing the long-lasting ache. He would have loved to take care of them more thoroughly, but that would have to wait just a little longer. Hurts like these were not healed at once, they needed time and patience and Aziraphale was more than willing and ready to give both to Crowley if Crowley let him and if they had the chance.

For now he touched and whispered them better and made a map of them for later revisiting.

He delved deeper, deeper, visited memories, Paris, a church, the bookshop, the arch, the Globe theatre, the Wall of Eden, and times before, before before, a fall, so quick, so unexpected-

He took it all, embraced it all and held it close, let Crowley embrace him with all his weaknesses and fallacies and then they were one, one, blissfully one until they separated again and-

Their bodies formed around them again, bringing them back down to this plane.

Aziraphale looked in the face that looked back from the mirror every day.

Pitch black wings spread out behind his back and his face moved in a fashion Aziraphale very well knew was not him. Even glowing with wonder the face was a little lopsided and cheeky with an edge to it, sharp enough to draw blood if one wasn’t careful.

“Well,” Aziraphale said and then paused. He was definitely speaking with Crowley’s voice, but even this little word had a different inflection to it. He cleared his throat. “The change back will be a little less dramatic, if I recall it correctly.”

“Too bad,” Crowley drawled. Aziraphale would have never thought to hear his own voice speaking in a drawl. “You know how much I _ like _ drama.”

“I know, dear,” Aziraphale chuckled. “How do I look?”

“Handsome,” Crowley answered after a moment. “Best we avoid showing our wings.”

Aziraphale looked at the back feathers rustling behind his back and nodded. “That would be for the best.”

Crowley reached out and gently ran a hand through his hair. “You make me look too nice. Smirk a little more.”

Aziraphale tried.

Crowley chuckled. “Remember that time you warned me about not giving Warlock that stupid bow-and-arrow set?”

“Ah, yes and then you were his favourite practise target, but no, of course one hasn’t to listen to the gardener,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Yes- yes, that’s more like it, that face,” Crowley said. “Keep that up.”

“Thank y- thanks.” Yes, that sounded more like Crowley. “How’ll you manage?”

“Oh, that will be easy.” Crowley’s edge on Aziraphale’s face softened a little into an expression that looked more natural on his face. Then his cheeks reddened. 

Maybe it was vain of Aziraphale to think so, but yes, it looked adorable.

“All I have to do is think of you.”

And now it was Aziraphale’s turn to blush.

They remained in bed a little longer, but their little peace couldn’t last.

After a while Aziraphale sighed. “It’s probably best if you leave first.”

Crowley nodded. “I better use the basement backdoor. If they’re already watching us they are either not paying attention to it or they do and will think you think of yourself being sneaky.” He got up and began to dress himself- “Oh, you’re right, this vest _ is _ comfy, I take back everything I ever said about it!”, which was actually quite satisfying. Another thing Aziraphale could draw on if he needed to smirk and pretend to be smug.

He followed Crowley to the door and held his hand. “We meet at four in the park?”

Crowley nodded. “Unless they come before.”

“Unless they come before,” Aziraphale confirmed.

And then Crowley pulled him close and held him tightly.

Airaphale had always been aware that his body was a little broader than Crowley, who was as skinny in a human body as in the form of a snake.

He had never been aware how small he might feel when near Aziraphale. Aziraphale certainly felt small now, very small and very safe.

If Crowley felt the same when Aziraphale hugged him, then Aziraphale would definitely hug him more often in the future.

For now he put Crowley’s slender arms around his own shoulders and felt Crowley cling to him as if the world depended on him not letting go. 

“Tell you what,” he whispered. “When we’re through with this, tempt me. Anything, everything you like. See if you can get me.”

Crowley laughed. “Angel, I’m holding ya. Think I already got ya good.”

“You did.” Arziraphale ran a hand over Crowley’s cheek and leaned their foreheads together. “Still wouldn’t mind another attempt.”

Crowley breathed out an unneeded gust of air against his lips. “We’ll be alright.”

“We will be,” Aziraphale promised, because they would. They would make sure nobody would ever dare touch them again. They would be safe.

Just like Crowley before Aziraphale breathed out without needing to or having even breathed in before.

It was best if he got dressed now. And then get out and about town, like Crowley usually did and then meet up again.

He passed the mirror and- Crowley’s face, including his warm, golden eyes, but he looked softer now that Aziraphale was behind it and his hair fell in unkempt, smooth tufts and waves around his face.

The biggest difference was the shadow of his not-quite-yet tucked away wings. 

Aziraphale hadn't paid much mind to the black behind his own back when he had seen it, but-

His wings put a gentle glow around Crowley's face.

This was a hurt Aziraphale would never be able to heal or take away. But he could make it easier, he could be there in the future, he could be at Crowley’s side and they could have a future now. He wouldn’t let go of him again.

Aziraphale tore his gaze from the mirror. Time to get dressed.

Time to get the show started, as Crowley liked to put it. He would get out, go about Crowley’s day and at some point be dragged to hell and then - well, then he would make damn sure that no demon ever would touch them again.

And he would enjoy every minute of it, oh yes, he would. Aziraphale chuckled to himself. Time to find out whether anywhere in hell there was a rubber duck.


End file.
